The explosions of white and gold devoured a space in the sky larger than Blacksand Spire. I braced myself, waiting for a shockwave that would surely leave me unconscious, but it never came. The power dispersed long before it should have, lost in the barrier of twisted space.
Gradually, as I blinked the blurry sunspots from my eyes, the writhing currents of mana faded, and the starlit sky reappeared. The lava dragon had curled tightly in a ball to reduce the surface area the attack impacted, and despite its ninth-level defensive technique, it was laced with cuts deep enough to fit entire buildings. A polished silver blight frosted its scales, preventing its natural regeneration from healing its wounds.
"He's gotten weaker," Emlica muttered.
"You all have," Haven said.
"Weaker?" I mumbled.
